


Now Stand Thirty Ghosts

by Drag_Me_to_Earth



Series: Between Baskerville and Brook [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fem!Watson - Freeform, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-14 14:36:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1270123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drag_Me_to_Earth/pseuds/Drag_Me_to_Earth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sequel to Let's Play a Game. Jane has been rescued, but she isn't herself. How will Sherlock handle a distant and damaged Watson? Johnlock! Angst! Awkwardness! WARNING: This is not separate from traditional Sherlock feels. It's meant to start between Baskerville and... the episode which shall not be named.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waking Up

"Behind every man now alive stand thirty ghosts, for that is the ratio by which the dead outnumber the living."

( _opening line from 2001: A Space Odyssey by Arthur C. Clarke_ )

**March 4th**

Footsteps. The chime of an elevator. A murmur of conversation. Noises began to leak into Jane's slowly dawning consciousness. One voice was louder than the others – she recognized it happily. _Stop badgering people, Sherlock; I'm coming back now._ She wasn't sure where she'd gone, just that she'd been away. Where was she? Everything felt stiff and heavy… Jane gradually persuaded her eyes to open and look around. Hospital? Oh, definitely a hospital, and she was covered in bandages – well, shit. That's a cast. Is my ankle broken? Apparently. Cautiously, memories crept back in, and she stiffened in horror as Moriarty's face loomed before her mind's eye. Machines beeped annoyingly as her body went into a slight panic, her heart rate spiking and her mind rushing too fast to stop herself, finally recollecting why she was hospitalized.

_He'd been fussing at the nurses again when the monitors burst into life, and he was back in Jane's room before the nurses had realized it was hers going off._

_"Jane?" he called, but he knew she wasn't hearing it. He laid his hand on her shoulder, but he felt her flinch, so he reluctantly pulled away. The nurses hurried in and set to work seeing if they could coax her down without having to sedate her._

Someone said her name, somewhere. Jane mentally flailed against the tidal wave of terrible images and feelings and taunting memories, fighting to recover the barricade she'd built several days earlier. _He's gone. Sherlock's here. I'm safe. I'm alive. I need to function, dammit._ Her eyes opened wide, unseeing at first. Forcing herself to take deep breaths, she dragged her mind up, away from the dark corners, and weakly waved the nurses away.

_He watched as every shade of terror passed over Jane's face, then anger and frustration, and finally… nothing. She somehow managed to smooth her features into a blank mask._

_"Well, back off, then, if she's waving you away, you idiots. Doctors hate being patients."_

_It seemed to take hours for the nurses to leave them alone, but his impatience likely tripled the length of time. When they left, however, he suddenly realized that he had no idea how to talk to her. Would she want to avoid serious conversation? Would being treated as fragile annoy her? Would she even want to talk to him at all? Doubt spun through his mind, but it seemed his natural spontaneity had decided to surface._

_"Jane? Are you… alright?" The question came out before he could stop himself._

Jane battled her desire to scream impulsively. NO. NO I AM NOT ALRIGHT.

"… Yeah." Smile-and-nod it was, then. She watched Sherlock realizing what a ridiculous question it was, watched him trying to read her, watched him retreat in confusion as he saw nothing. She wanted to feel the need to reach out, to explain, but she didn't feel anything.

"God bless painkillers. I've just got a bit of a headache. You don't look too good, though. Haven't been eating, have you?" It wasn't what he meant, and she knew it. Avoiding certain discussions – Shouldn't it be Sherlock doing that?

"I – some. Mrs. Hudson, you know." Of course.

"How did you survive before you had me, Sherlock Holmes? Anyway, I'm going to get some rest. You should as well. Sit, breathe, relax." Jane turned her head away and closed her eyes, shutting him and the rest of the world out. He did as he was told.


	2. Take Me Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane gets out of the hospital, but all is not well in Baker Street. Mrs Hudson must be avoiding the second floor...

_"Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment." - Buddha_

**March 11th**

Why are doctors such terrible patients?

"I'm perfectly fit to go home!"

"Miss Watson - look -"

"Miss Watson?! Are you kidding me? Of all the titles -"

"Jane. Please. Let's just walk out shall we?" Sherlock turned to glare at the offending doctor. "He won't stop us tomorrow morning, will he?" The unfortunate Dr. Sawyer cowered under the detective's glare, being nearly a foot shorter.

"Oh. Um. Of course not. Dr. Watson will be discharged tomorrow morning with - with as little fuss as possible."

Sherlock couldn't help but panic slightly behind his cool exterior. _If Jane came home to 221B before her cast came off, he might have to help her up and down the stairs. Would she even allow that? What about safety? Lying in a hospital bed grumpily watching crap tele while Sherlock sat nearby working on cold case files was far safer than sitting at home with Mrs. Hudson. Should he stay home? Could he stay home without causing chaos? Sherlock decided to remain in the flat with Jane as long as he could._

_"Well, this should be interesting, at least," he thought._

( **March 20th** )

"Sherlock, get off the couch. You've been staring at the ceiling for three hours. Even listening to you yelling at the telly is better than that."

"What? Why?"

"It's weird. You've barely blinked. Don't meditate yourself into a coma, boy-wonder; I need your long-legged brain-transport to run errands for another couple months."

"Ah... right." Jane went back to her incessant typing as Sherlock swung his legs over, stood up, and stepped over the table.

"Is that necessary?" Jane snapped, not even glancing up.

"What, stepping on the table?"

"Yes."

"I always do that."

"Yes. You step on the table I may want to set my plate down on sometime. Remind me never to eat food that falls on it."

_Since she didn't seem to be paying much attention to him anymore, he quickly backed through the kitchen into his room. He'd spent most of the past week in his room, actually. Sherlock never thought he would find himself avoiding his flatmate, except maybe when she was infatuated with the latest boyfriend. She had been either eerily indifferent or disconcertingly irritable since she came home._

_"I wish I could just confront her. She's accused me of avoiding confrontation before, but I know very well that I'm skilled at doing it to others. I don't want her to get upset. There's no way to tell what the source of her anger is at this point, and I would rather not discover it to be me and provoke her into leaving... Leaving the flat." I was not about say "leaving me"! his brain protested quietly. "I want her safe. This won't do. I have to keep an eye on her, and she's pushing me away."_

"DAMMIT JIM." The outburst was accompanied by an impressive crash. Eyes wide, Jane hurried over to Sherlock's door and pounded on it.

"Sherlock, what've you done?" The door was yanked open to reveal a slightly out-of-breath Holmes and a half-destroyed bookshelf on the floor. "Good God, man."

"Er - sorry. Just - a temper tantrum I suppose."

"A temper tantrum?!" Jane shouted. "Have you LOST YOUR MIND?"

Her outrage only served to aggravate him further, and he took a long, sweeping step closer, bellowing right back.

"APPARENTLY I HAVE. Thank you, thank YOU, Jane Watson!"

"What? What do I have to do with it, you lunatic?!"

"EVERYTHING. It's always EVERYTHING with you now! DISTRACTIONS!"

"What?!" Without thinking, her flatmate got in Jane's face.

"You! You are a distraction! IRENE wasn't as bad a distraction! Do you have ANY IDEA what happened to me while you were with Moriarty, Jane?! I HAD A NIGHTMARE ABOUT FINDING YOU DEAD! A nightmare! And then I see what he's telling you! And it doesn't matter if you stop trusting me, because even if I got you out, IT WAS MY FAULT IN THE FIRST PLACE."

Jane gaped at him in shock as he cut off the rest of his rant, his normally pink and bowed mouth pressed thin and as pale as his skin.

"If - but - I - You did - What -" She choked back her consternation and backed away. Jane, having quickly hobbled up to her room, wasn't sure what had been more alarming, the in-her-face yelling or the information told. "What the hell just happened?" She pushed it out of her mind as best she could and picked up the novel she'd been half-way into when Moriarty grabbed her.

_Sherlock, meanwhile, could not believe what he'd just done. He was relieved when her door didn't slam shut, which would mean that she wasn't angry, just alarmed and probably confused. He knew he never should have allowed himself to get so out of control. Getting in Jane's space like that was likely a frightening experience for her, especially after what happened. He wasn't exactly sure how much of his rant had come out of his mouth, either, which was concerning. He resorted to methods similar to Jane's: pulled a stool up to the table in the kitchen and immersed himself in an experiment._


	3. April Fools

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The angst was distressing me on Jane and Sherlock's behalf. This is a cute little ray of sunshine in their rather gray routine. For the past few weeks, even before Sherlock's outburst, they've gone through the motions, walking on eggshells. Even Jane gets tired of her grim outlook sometimes. She hasn't really laughed or smiled again yet since coming home, and she spies a perfect opportunity.

_"Do not take life too seriously. You will never get out of it alive." - Elbert Hubbard_

After the incident in his room, Sherlock decided to take up cases again before they both went crazy. He still wanted to protect Jane, feeling himself at fault in the first place, so he took only the especially interesting cases - 8's mostly. He was sort of glad for the lack of 9's and the infamous 10, because those would probably have something to do with James Moriarty. The only downside to this arrangement of I-go-away and you-sulk-in-peace was that he came home bursting with excitement about the case. He stopped himself on the landing the first time, and backtracked to consult Mrs. Hudson. ( _Can I tell her about cases? May as well give it a go, dear._ ) It turned out that she was still very interested, if less complimentary, so he made a habit of rehashing each case for her once he'd solved it. Once in a while, Sherlock saw her glaring ferociously at her cast out of the corner of his eye. (She was extremely Bored.)

It had been days since his last case, but he had a couple experiments going on the kitchen table, so neither of them were contemplating drastic actions - yet. That morning, he woke up from his four hours of sleep and trudged into the kitchen, only to find that something was off that his sleepy mind couldn't place. After about twenty minutes of perplexed staring at his things, Sherlock heard Jane walk in - and start snickering. His head shot up in shock.

"Did you do something to my experiments?"

"To your experiments? No... The look on your face is priceless! I'm glad I was the one who was prowling around in the wee hours of the morning."

"What? I don't understand. Why did you...?" He trailed off as she pulled out her phone and showed him the calendar. He couldn't help looking back and forth between it and her smirk.

"April first... You... Oh..." Jane actually started laughing then, continuing as the detective peered at the table and realized that she had just moved all the tools and vials to the wrong place. He felt ridiculous, having been so confused, but he was glad it made her laugh. He smiled.

"Well played, Jane. You should be glad Mrs. Hudson would never let me get revenge."

Jane grinned cheekily at him, and looked more like herself than she had in a month.

"Let's go down and join her for breakfast, then. She'll appreciate a chuckle at your expense."

"Wouldn't most everyone?"

"True. You're lucky I didn't put dye in your shampoo or something."

"You would never!"

"I might!"

"Jane? Sherlock? Hallo! What's got you two so cheery?"

They shared the little story with Mrs. Hudson over coffee and toast, and that morning, at least, was lovely. Thank goodness for ridiculous holidays.


	4. In Which It's Pretty Much Lose-Lose for Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No options but bad options....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *pukes this chapter on you* _I'm so sorry_

_"Trust is to human relationships what faith is to gospel living. It is the beginning place, the foundation upon which more can be built. Where trust is, love can flourish." - Barbara Smith_

**April 18th**

Jane had just gotten the cast off her foot a couple days ago, but Sherlock was already on thin ice.

"Your ankle is still weak, Jane, as you very well know, _Doctor_."

"Oh, not to mention I'm still not very good company?" she replied scathingly.

"Well, that, too."

"Sherlock!"

" _You_ said it."

"AGH."

She was absolutely outraged that he still wouldn't let her do anything outside the house. He'd resorted to putting Mrs Hudson on guard whenever he left for a case. In fact, he took fewer cases than he had while she had the cast on. _This is ludicrous,_ he thought. This morning, he'd actually found himself refusing a perfectly decent 7 when Lestrade called him! Sherlock spent the morning composing on his violin instead, pondering the predicament he was in with Jane. She'd holed herself up in her room since yesterday evening, but it seemed a good night's sleep had improved her outlook; he could hear her coming down the stairs as he paused in his playing. Sherlock's attention was drawn back from the violin again when a whisper of intuition told him something was off.

"Jane?"

"Just - just got slowed down a bit," she called from the stairs. "My ankle's decided to fight me, I think." Only a moment later, he heard an exclamation of "oh - shit -"

The violin and bow clattered to the carpet as Sherlock bolted towards the stairs. He got there just in time to stop Jane's fall. She slammed into his chest, and they were both lucky his feet were braced. For a couple seconds, she was just glad her face hit him instead of the wood, and he stood still, holding her where she fell. Unfortunately, Jane's instincts kicked in as her adrenaline faded, and her whole body tensed, pulling away from her flatmate sharply, eyes wide.

"Jane -"

"Don't." She slunk off to hide in the kitchen, and Sherlock returned to pick up his violin.

_Please stop playing sad music. I trust you. It's not you. It's not your fault._ But she couldn't say it.


	5. Holding Together

April 22nd

Falling on Sherlock, crushed against his chest for seconds that seemed much longer, Jane felt something crack. The wall, the dam, which she had built up around her emotions, couldn't quite withstand that moment of fear. _Being afraid of Sherlock. Never! Never. Wrong._ Jane slowly crumbled under the frustration, the way she'd pushed away from him haunting her, every time he tolerated her touchiness and ill-temper only serving to further fracture her mental stronghold. That night, a few days later, she broke.

Sherlock was lying on the couch, just staring at the ceiling, when he noticed that he could no longer hear Jane walking around or typing. She was always doing one or the other recently.

"Jane?" No response. He started carefully up the stairs, making sure he creaked a lot so she could hear him coming. "Alright, Jane?" Still nothing. He walked up to her door and gently pushed it open. At first he didn't see her - she was huddled in a quietly sobbing ball in the corner. "Oh..." _What do I do?_ After a moment of internal debate, Sherlock gingerly knelt in front of her and held out his hands, palms up. "Jane? Are you hearing me?" He almost didn't expect her to, but she looked up. Her tear-streaked face broke his last mental defenses against "sentiment," and he moved around her to settle against the wall, drawing her gently into his lap. He wasn't so much holding her as enveloping her.

 _Hold me together; I'm falling apart._ Jane's breakdown had her a mess, but she could feel the healing process starting deep down. Whatever pieces of her had shattered under Moriarty fluttered warily, happily, towards the warmth provided by her flatmate - her friend - something indescribable...


	6. Home Sweet Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT I DIDN'T DIE ON YOU ... I mean... Jane's recovery?

_"In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on." - Robert Frost_

**April 25th**

Once Jane broke down and slowly came back together, things pretty much went back to normal. It only took Sherlock three days and a good case to revert back to his usual attitude, but Jane didn't mind. He was still sort of protective (not _possessive_ \- that would be _weird_ ) and, acting as though nothing had happened was comforting. The first time Jane came to a crime scene again, even Anderson seemed glad to see her. This was probably because Sherlock was a completely insufferable arse without her. Jane was also glad for the chance to apologize to Lestrade, whom she hadn't talked to since he took her statement about Moriarty.

"Jane! Good to see you, soldier."

"You, too. Listen... I wanted to apologize for not talking to you this past - er - several weeks..."

"No, look, it's fine. I get it. I'm just glad you're -"

"Me again?" Jane finished.

"Eh, yeah."

"Well, Sherlock's starting to look irritated. Let's not antagonize him. Talk to you later."

Lestrade couldn't help noticing something that even Jane seemed to glaze over: the change in Sherlock's behaviour. At first glance, the detective was back to normal, but the DI began to see small movements, or a flicker of an expression, that told him Sherlock hadn't gotten over his reaction to Jane's capture. Lestrade pulled him aside.

"Hey, mate, thanks for the tips, but... Are you alright?"

"Of course I'm fine. What are you talking about?"

"It's just - Jane didn't see how you were when she was gone. I did, and, well... You're not back yet, Sherlock. You're holding together, but something's still biting you."

"Your concern is touching. Kindly keep it to yourself." Sherlock stalked over to Jane and their taxi, brushing off Lestrade and the discussion. The DI just sighed.

"Watch yourself, kid," he muttered at the now-distant taxi. "I'd still like to see that great man someday."

**April 30th**

"Jane!"

"What!"

"Come down!"

"Fine!" She clattered noisily down the stairs to the living room. "Now, what?" Sherlock waved a brochure in the air, smiling. _Ah, this is a new case, isn't it?_ "Sherlock, you know I'm going back to work in two days, right?"

"Irrelevant! Look where this case is! Isle of Mann! I haven't been there!"

"Isle of Mann? I have. I should go with you." She was surprised when his smile dropped.

"No."

"What? Why? It makes sense. I can always start work next week."

"No."

"Sherlock -"

"No!" Jane stared at him, and he started look uncomfortable.

"Why? You have to tell me why." He turned away.

"No. Let it alone, Jane!"

"... No, yourself, git. Tell me." At that, he tried to evade her, but ended up cornered in his room unless he wanted to climb out the fire escape. "Now talk."

"JANE. Really." He was started to pace and get upset, and the situation was suddenly disturbingly similar to when he blew up at her. Jane, realizing she couldn't handle a repeat, debated internally whether or not she would have to back off. Fortunately, Sherlock noticed what she was thinking and immediately felt guilty. "Alright, alright... sit."

"Wh - okay..." Jane sat on the foot of his bed, for lack of chairs, and he folded himself up on the other end.

"Jane... I don't want you in danger, but I definitely don't want you in danger where I don't know the streets and citizens. When Moriarty had you... I wasn't myself. If I could've remained detached like I ordinarily am in work, I could've found you faster, and... And it doesn't matter. You would never've been taken in the first place if I didn't involve you in my cases..." he trailed off sadly.

"No."

"What?"

"No. Don't do that."

"Do - what?"

"Blame yourself. I guess I understand your outburst last month now. You idiot." Jane crawled over the bed to kneel in front of him. "You didn't drag me into your chaos. I marched in myself, and I'd do it again. I'll stay here with Mrs. Hudson and you go have your adventure without getting yourself killed and maybe things will settle down." She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his cheekbone. "Go on. Impress a girl." She waltzed away down to talk to Mrs. Hudson as he processed what she had just done. _Wasn't that Adler's line? ... Oh._

"Oh."


End file.
